


If You Insist

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020), DC Extended Universe
Genre: Anger Management, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, bc that's my jam and i am nothing if not a self-indulgent fic writer, mentions of prospective ot3 Harley/Helena/Dinah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23182393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: Anonymous requested, “Helena rage issues, maybe her punching a wall or something and one of the birds talk her down and tell her it’s not a healthy coping mechanism.”
Relationships: Helena Bertinelli/Harleen Quinzel
Comments: 8
Kudos: 112





	If You Insist

Harley knew that Helena had a killer right hook and prominent anger issues from the first night they met, not far into the evening as they fielded off Sionis and his entourage at the abandoned carnival. Still, she didn’t expect Helena to punch a hole in the wall after getting the wrong order of Chinese food delivered to their apartment tonight, or for her to lurch down to the ground afterwards, mumbling something about disappointments and lo mein.

Harley doesn’t know her that well, not quite yet— they’ve only been living together for about three and a half months and the woman has a pretty insurmountable wall built up around herself— but Harley has enough sense to know at least one of Helena’s comments is in reference to herself. It’s pretty obvious which one, seeing as the whole issue at present is the lack of lo mein in the now crumpled, soy-sauce stained takeout carton laying next to her. 

“Hey, come on,” Harley remarks, trying to keep her voice light, casual, easy. “What’re you talking about? The food, sure, that’s a bummer, but you? You’re not a disappointment. Besides, we got extra dumplings!”

Helena doesn’t look up, doesn’t crack a smile. Her back stays pressed to the wall, her head dipped about three feet below the crater of white paint and insulation that’s now rather impressively dented. Helena stares at her knuckles. Her fingers are loosely intertwined, the skin blossoming into splotches of red. 

“The wall would say otherwise,” she spits out. If Harley’s honest, she’s a little taken aback that Helena has answered her so quickly; she can be a woman of few words, especially when she’s upset, and Harley expected to have to do some more prying to get her to open up. It’s either the silent treatment or roaring expletives with this girl, and Harley admittedly respects her commitment to both extremes. 

Right now, though, Helena’s anger is directed solely at herself. It’s a bit dramatic and unwarranted in Harley’s opinion— what’s a little hole in the wall really matter? It doesn’t bother her one bit as long as the cold doesn’t come in, and even then, they can cover it with a blanket or something, they’re not fancy. 

She’s been looking at some new places anyway, someplace that can accomodate all of them and Cass without making them share beds, not that she minds doing so in the slightest. In fact, it’s kind of been the highlight of her life recently, aside from all of this newfound independence and identity rebranding she’s been doing. Dinah’s a damn good cuddler with both Harley and Helena, and when she wakes up she doesn’t say a word about it, implying that while she doesn’t want to acknowledge how close she gets with them, she doesn’t feel weird about either. At least, not to the point where she needs to explain. They’re all emotionally constipated, anyway, so Harley takes the fact that neither of them shove her away when she scoots closer to be a good sign.

Harley kind of likes this little thing the three of them have going on, whatever it may be.

Okay, she really likes it. Really likes Helena, really likes Dinah too. Montoya’s alright— a little too bossy to be her type, if she’s frank—and besides, Harley hasn’t gotten the chance to nestle up to her at all yet; by this point, if she hasn’t joined the three of them, she’s not into it. Whatever, Harley thinks, more body heat for her. 

The kitchen is beginning to reek of sweet and sour tofu— not a bad thing, Harley thinks, but she’d prefer to be tasting it rather than smelling it— but Helena is still frowning, pouting, seething on the linoleum like some kind of wounded puppy. And Harley will admit it: her entire body sort of, like, weirdly aches while looking at her. She’s sad, discouraged, so tragic and pretty, and Harley recognizes these sorts of feelings, knows it’s too soon after ending things with the Joker to even consider wanting anything with anyone new. But here she is anyway, being a damn softie. 

Harley tries her best attempt at humor, hoping to lift Helena’s spirits with nonchalance. She recalls what Helena had said seconds ago, tries to come up with a joke that won’t fall flat, and ends up going with half-joke, half-admission of personal shortcomings.

“That wall doesn’t think anything, babe, it doesn’t have a conscience. Believe me, I’d know if it did. You think that’s the first time it’s gotten damaged? Not even close.”

Helena’s been swaying a little, self-soothingly rocking herself back and forth. Her head is dipped to her knees, hiding her face, but Harley crouches and takes a seat next to her and only then does Helena finally glance up. Maybe because Harley called her “babe,” but Harley’s not overthinking that. No. Not at all. She calls everyone pet names all the time, especially Helena. Usually, she pretends to hate them, or at the very least, roll her eyes while biting back a smile.

Helena peers up at her, gives her those big, brown eyes. She’s vulnerable. 

“You punch walls sometimes too?” After a pause, she corrects herself. “Well, a lot?”

Harley chuckles. Helena sounds a little surprised and she can’t imagine why. If anything, it’s a bit of an ego booster that Helena doesn’t see her as the wrecking ball that nearly everyone else in the city does, despite the ways that she’s changed. Or maybe Helena does see her in that way, but sees everything else that she is too. 

“Oh yeah, I used to be a carpenter’s worst nightmare. Still am sometimes, to be fair.” Harley lifts her fist, showcasing a smattering of bruises across her own skin. 

Helena examines them, glances down to her own broken blood vessels. It’s a moment of solidarity, and when Harley looks away for a second and then back, she sees a hint of a shimmer in Helena’s eyes, matching her eyeshadow, smudged and silver. 

“I’m sorry,” Helena says despite herself. Harley gets the feeling that Helena’s had to say those two words to a lot of people, many who didn’t even deserve it. “I’ll try not to do it again. I won’t do it again.”

She sits, repositions herself, and Harley takes that moment to reach for her hand and messily squeeze her hand. A couple of each of their fingers are intertwined, some aren’t, but it doesn’t matter. Harley’s touch is insistent, sure, clarifying. 

“It’s fine. Don’t be sorry. And listen, you’re not a disappointment, Helena, okay?” 

Helena looks up, arches her eyebrows. She almost laughs when she says, “you sure about that?” and if it wasn’t so condescending and unfaithful, it’d be cute. 

Okay, it still is cute. But also just, like, really fucking sad.

Harley unceremoniously scoots to her, the metal of her boots scraping against the floor. The sound is grating but neither of them grimace. 

“One hundred percent,” Harley finds herself promising. “I am so sure.”

Helena smiles then. It’s so beautiful. Harley wants to kiss her. 

“If you insist,” Helena replies, and it’s the first sort of submission that Harley’s ever heard from her. 

Harley is still sort of thinking about how much she’d like to kick the asses of everyone that’s ever brought Helena even a moment of grief in her life, and that fact alone— that she’s lived so much of her life in sorrow, in distress— is heartbreaking. Now though, Harley wonders if anyone’s ever made her heart feel better, more mended. She wonders if she could be that person, even if just for a little while. Even if just for right now. 

She thinks she must look at Helena too long, gaze darting between her lips and her eyes too obviously, and she feels like a deer caught in headlights in both the best and worst ways. Helena maybe almost moves forward, maybe is about to say something, Harley doesn’t know because she decides to stand and pulls Helena up with her, moving them back towards the kitchen. 

“To prove it,” she announces characteristically, unnecessarily loudly, “I’ll buy you the right food. Anything you want, I got it covered. You want three orders of lo mein, I’ll get you three orders of lo mein.”

“No, you don’t have to,” Helena starts, but Harley doesn’t give her the chance to finish. 

“Yes, I do, and yes, I will. I’ll get you extra sprouts too, just like I know you want. I, on the other hand, am perfectly fine with eating the dumplings and....” she pauses, moves around the unidentifiable food sprawled out onto the kitchen counter with a bent plastic fork, “...whatever this is.” 

Helena laughs, _really_ laughs this time. “If you insist,” she repeats.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed, please let me know, and come talk to me in the comments or at my tumblr (same username: sweeterthankarma) about how absolutely fantastic this movie is.


End file.
